Schwarz Herz
by Noble Scotsman
Summary: "Black Heart." A Moderator has exiled himself to Earth in order to end the subjugation of kämpfers and ensure the cessation of the Moderators' reign. In order to help him, as well as counter the white kämpfers, he creates, haltingly, a black kämpfer. How will the red/blue coalition receive this odd couple? More importantly, what will become of the kämpfers if he succeeds?
1. Prologue

**Hi guys,** Noble Scotsman** here with a new story. I've been wanting to write this one for a while, and I may be coordinating releases with **UNSC Spirit of Fire**, so we'll have to see what direction the story takes, but so far I'm really happy with it.**

**Anyways, without further ado, please enjoy the story!**

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**Prologue**

The night was black as the two figures rode on, the waves of darkness cresting above them as the full moon waned. Still, the figures rode on through the blackened sea, carried through by their snow-white horses, the path lit by the light of desperation. The medieval countryside around them was their own country, but it was far from friendly territory – especially after their most recent mission. Now, fearing for their own lives, the two figures streamed across the land, heading for what they believed could protect them.

As they crested another hill, the lead figure reigned-in his horse, its whinny carrying across the silent valley as they gazed upon their sanctuary. Sweeping aside his cloak to reveal the plate armor underneath, the man pointed at the castle, the three walls which protected it standing stoically against the night. His wrist gleamed as the moonlight struck it, revealing the white bracelet that he wore and his true identity.

Kämpfer.

"My lord!" the man cried as the second figure reigned-in alongside him. "Surely we will be safe once we reach the shadow of the citadel – let us make haste."

The person he was addressing, an elderly knight typical of the age, bowed his head in response and touched his wrist, upon which another white bracelet was found. "The Moderators would disprove of our running from a fight… But surely they would be lenient for the information we have gleaned tonight. We _must_ inform them of this development. They will know how to respond."

"Hya!" the younger figure said, snapping his reigns and shooting off into the darkness, closely followed by his elder. They had to make it; they _had_ to. But still, to think that they, the emissaries of the Moderators themselves, would be so casually outmatched… it was unthinkable.

Since the beginning of the feudal system, they, the White Knights, had been the literal embodiments of the Moderators' divine will on Earth, and wielded enormous power over their primitive European counterparts. They were not of this world, though, and somewhere far away two worlds were at war – threatening to destroy each other in their bloodlust. The Moderators, unwilling to see two worlds destroyed, made a magnanimous decision, which had been accepted on all sides. On Earth, humans, if they had the right skills, would be singled-out and given power and a color, either red or blue. Then, immediately, another kämpfer of the opposite color would be created nearby, or drawn to them. These _kämpfers_, as those first selected called themselves, would be forced to kill and eliminate the kämpfers of the opposite color, mimicking the war between the two worlds and providing both entertainment and a way to settle the dispute without the loss of a world. To this end, the kämpfers were granted powers beyond normal humans, at a price, though; each fighter would become female if they were not already, so as to be able to fight better.

No heavenly body remembers why this change to the kämpfers' physical appearance was implemented, perhaps it had simply been for entertainment more than usefulness, but, regardless, all sides had come to respect the viciousness and capability exampled by prior kämpfers as they fought each other. There were never many kämpfers at any one point, due to being killed before another person with the right gifts could be changed into one to aid them further, but the fighting was as fierce as ever.

The White Knights, the white kämpfers, were set to watch over the bloodied proceedings on Earth and keep the system the way it was designed; red vs blue. Any dissent was to be dealt with swiftly and without exception, and amenable relationships between the two factions were to remain non-existent as the hatred grew between the two colors. Alliances were deemed impossible – the hatred was too strong by now – but, occasionally, one would be agreed to.

Naturally, the white kämpfers were dispatched to deal with them, as on this occasion. The elimination of the two was simple, the white kämpfers' power far bypassing that of mere humans', but it was what had come _after_ that had forced the two enforcers into this headlong retreat to their sanctuary.

As he remembered this, the elder knight urged his steed to greater speeds, bypassing his younger escort with ease. "Faster, Arthur!"

"Yes, my lord!" the youth replied, eyes wide with fear.

The two horsemen emerged from the forest at breakneck speeds, covering the remaining ground with renewed vigor as they came within sight of the walls. It was the final stretch – they had made it.

The youth visibly relaxed, and his elder heard him cry out in surprised as the sound of something dropping reached his ears. The boy had dropped his saddlebag on the road behind him, and he jumped off of his horse, running to retrieve it, unaware of the danger.

"No! You fool!" the elder cried, desperately urging his horse towards the youth. The back of his neck prickled suddenly, and he dived from the saddle as he passed the boy, rolling together with him into a ditch on the side of the road. Glancing up from their position on the ground, he saw their horses dissolve into a plume of darkness, melting away until there was nothing remaining. The two knights got shakily to their feet, struggling as all knights do with their heavy armor, and stepped into the road.

"What do we do, my lord?" the boy asked, his eyes wide.

"We fight…" his elder answered, his voice hard. The boy nodded, and the two disappeared in a shower of light. When the light cleared, two women, wearing the plate armor easily, stood confidently in the center of the dirt highway. The elder held a greatsword, which she embedded in the ground in front of her, and crossed her arms, peering into the night. "Arthur, give us some light…" she said, frowning. The youth smirked, summoning a ball of fire, and tossed it into the air, where it burst like an umbrella, hanging suspended over their heads and lighting up the countryside. Hopefully it would also draw the attention of their allies.

"Show yourself!" the elder demanded, her voice resonating with confidence. "You know not our might; it would be foolish to oppose us!"

"Aye!" the youth cheered, raising her fist triumphantly.

_**You dare presume to threaten me, kämpfer?**_

The two knights froze as the voice washed over them, feeling its power rather than hearing it. It was a cold voice, one dripping with malice and untapped power, and all confidence fled before its tender onslaught. It was like the dark waters of death itself, spreading, nulling, quieting. As it washed over the two kämpfers, they felt horrible, and the darkness seemed to press in on them, as though knowing of their corruption. The night was clear, but they gasped for breath.

"Who…who are you…?" the elder breathed, terrified.

A figure stepped out of seemingly nothing, materializing from the darkness itself. He was tall, and even several feet away, he loomed over them. His hair was black as the night, and his skin was as pale as a full moon, seeming to drink in the moonlight instead of reflect it. Lastly, his eyes, a deep crimson, stared menacingly through its victims, as though evaluating their worth, and assuring them of his dominance. He walked closer, speaking again, though the fury in his voice had not dissipated.

_**Who…am I. I am known by many names and ranked prominently among your 'gods', the Moderators of The System.**_ He stopped, looking into the terrified white kämpfers' eyes, and spoke again, every word laced with immeasurable power. _**I am known as the Nightwalker, the Lord of Gloom, the Ravager, and the Raven of the Hunt. I embody the destructive power of 'god', of your beloved Moderators themselves, for I was once among them. Your system here displeases me, so I shall eradicate it and bring The System to its knees; I will destroy a world, if I need to, and forge a new world from its ashes. You and your masters' unchecked spread across this planet has been without opposition, but I shall see to its end.**_

"The M-Moderators will definitely stop you!" Arthur cried defiantly, and the man turned his gaze once more to her. He seemed to consider the youth's statement for a moment before making an almost imperceptible shake of his head.

_**Let them come. The entire pantheon of their greatest cannot defeat me, legions of their finest have fallen already attempting to prevent my departure, but no longer.**_

"You will be defeated. I swear on it," the elder said, drawing her greatsword. "If not by us, then by those after us. The Moderators' will is absolute."

_**Only I am absolute.**_

"The system is too far entrenched to be uprooted at this point…it's pointless…" the elder countered, leveling her sword at the former Moderator. "Come, Arthur, we shall defeat this heretic."

The man smiled, and a gilded staff appeared in his hands. Twirling it, he slammed it into the ground, where its point stayed, quivering from the force. Black energy entwined itself around his arms, and he levitated slightly in the air, his hair billowing despite the calm of the night.

_**I shall make your end quick, puppet.**_

The two kämpfers jumped at him, their speed and power incredible, and the man closed, his scarlet eyes amused as he clashed with the two warriors.

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Violet flashed as the sunlight struck an eye that was only half-open, causing it to blink as it refocused, adjusting to the change in lighting. Sighing in slight annoyance, its owner sat upright, brushing aside hotel stationary as he glanced at the clock. It was five thirty-two.

2014.

Brushing the long, dark bangs out of his eyes, he walked over to the head-to-foot window and opened the sliding door, stepping out onto the cool hotel porch. He was on the fifth floor, high above the houses of residents in this desert city, and his landscape view of the early Arizonan sunrise was undisturbed by the hustle and bustle of early-morning Phoenix. He leaned against the railing, feeling the cool breeze sweep through his hair, and surveyed the buildings which made up the desert jewel of the American Southwest through jaded eyes.

He had been dreaming about _then_ again.

He sighed, his violet eyes following the sun as it spread across the darkened city. He had come to this place for one reason – to destroy the last of the white kämpfer influence in the mainland Americas. After that…

He swung his head to the west, unable to see the distant horizon because of the building. After he had finished here, he would move on to Asia, starting with Japan.

It had been over a thousand years since his arrival on Earth, and the curse the elderly white kämpfer had placed upon him still held its truth. The System was still in place, red and blue kämpfers continued to die in the gladiatorial games of another world, and despite all of his work, humans still remained shackled to the Moderators' will.

He had no qualms about killing white kämpfers, since they were the divine essence of the Moderators and not an actual living being, but because of that they keep re-animating every couple decades, with the Moderators' help, they never ceased to cause him trouble. It was all he could do to wipe them out of an area, make peace between the red and blue kämpfers, and move on to the next area to repeat. Indeed, he had slowed the expansion of the kämpfers, forcing the Moderators to choose wisely where they would hold their gladiatorial games, but it was a process that failed to produce any long-term results, after all.

He had filled his free time with studies about Earth and its culture from age to age, but in all his research he found nothing to aid in his quest, nor in the return of kämpfers to their original forms.

He didn't need to go looking for them, they would always attack him regardless of where he was in the world. He had become tired, and taken up some material pleasures to fill his days, looking for a purpose once again.

He would have to find a solution.

Until that time comes, though…

He had work to do.

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**So, how was it? I'd really like to get some feedback and reviews (review please!). For those who don't know a lot about the Moderators or kämpfers in general, I tried to explain the situation and how it affects people as well as provide some background for one of my OCs (Original Characters). This made the chapter take a slightly more serious tone, but I plan to stick with the lighthearted tone of the anime if I can hereafter.**

**Secondly, I really like the anime and manga of Kämpfer. For all intents and purposes, though, this story will take place around the time after the show has ended. I will also definitely be writing from the perspective of characters from the show, though it will be limited to "Red Team". **UNSC Spirit of Fire** shall be handling the perspective of "Blue Team", so be sure to check out his story once he has it posted.**

**As always, I will attempt to write at least 2'000 words per chapter - so please look forward to that.**

**I really look forward to writing this story; chapter 1 should be out soon!**


	2. Chapter 1

**Hi guys,** Noble Scotsman** here with Chapter 1 of Schwarz Herz. I hope you enjoy.**

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**Chapter 1**

_I'm…weak…_

The night was cool, remarkably so for a desert in early Spring. The stars watched serenely over the city, the towers of Phoenix stretching towards the skies of Arizona, following the gaze of a small, dark figure lying beneath the shelter of a few trees, surrounded by grass. The expanse of grass alone was a rare sight for such a desert city, but it grew strong and green, dependably stretching towards the heavens as others gave up and crumbled away.

The grass never crumbled, but lived and grew taller continuously, its dream of touching the sky everlasting.

This was a certain haven in the city, a sort of playground for the rich and talented to escape the desert heat. The sanctuary - the school - lay upon bare, scorched earth, but within its walls, safely cradled in its embrace, lay a green paradise. Water flowed freely from fountain to fountain, trees and greenery surrounded the students as they went about their education, oblivious to the oasis around them, and a light wind always blew, bringing with it the scent of freedom, fresh air, and open sky.

This was the reality of the school which the figure attended, and the difficulty excelling with which each student struggled.

"Hey…Lance…" a voice said, stepping out from the shadows of one of the trees, leaning over his friend worriedly. "It's getting late…Do you need a ride?"

The figure on the ground shook his head before pushing himself wearily to his feet. He was taller than his companion, if only just, and had a deep black hair compared to his companion's oddly-colored white color. Reaching out, he retrieved his backpack from where it had sat on the ground, and after a moment of pause, retrieved his gym bag as well. The other figure sighed and took the gym bag for Lance, wrapping an arm around his shoulder.

"Hey, let's go…You live near here, right?" he said as they started walking, emerging into the darker city outside the safe walls of the school. They walked in silence for a while, each absorbed in their own thoughts, until Lance finally sighed, breaking the tension that had built up between the two students.

"Thanks for coming to the tryouts, Alex," he said, taking the gym bag back from his best friend and swinging it effortlessly to perch on his shoulder.

"Haha – no problem. We're best friends after all, right?" Alex grinned, throwing an arm around his friend. "I missed the rest of your tryouts this week, right? So this was my last chance! Aww, I want to come to more tryouts again soon…"

Lance nodded, understanding. There was something intrinsically exciting with tryout week for any sport, especially volleyball. The speed and intensity of the players, plus their expert co-ordination with one another on the court, excites the hearts of those watching and invigorates those on the court to perform even more brilliantly for their team. Alone they may be skilled, but together they are strong. That was one of the reasons why Lance had tried-out for volleyball, after all.

Strength. The power to accomplish one's own goals. That was what he wanted.

Above all, though, he craved something else….a basic longing instilled in him since before he could remember, one that longed for something to happen, _anything_ to happen, for his dull school life to become interesting and exciting.

"So…how'd you do?" Alex's voice brought Lance back to reality, and he shrugged noncommittally.

"I…uh…was cut from the team…" he said quietly, stuffing his hands in his pockets, and Alex stayed silent, sympathizing with him. That was one of the things he liked best about Alex, he always knew when silence was more than enough.

"That's ok, buddy," Alex said, after a while. "You'd be wasted on the volleyball team anyway. And _now_," he leaned in conspiratorially, a mischievous grin on his face, "you can focus on what's really important."

"What?" Lance said thickly, not willing to be amused.

"Getting a girlfriend, of course!" Alex proclaimed, spinning away, clutching his hands to his chest in a heartfelt proclamation of love. "It's love, love, love!"

Despite himself, Lance grinned. "Hey, you don't have a girlfriend either. What allows you to harass me, huh?"

Alex spun around and rejoined Lance, his bracelet bumping jovially against his wrist from the ferocity of his movements. "Ah, you see, _I_, unlike _you_, have a large following of fan girls – all of whom would be delighted to date me!"

"Ah…your visual novels again?" Lance said, shaking his head in mock disgust.

"Hey! Don't under-rate the value of virtual love! It's love, love, love!" Alex proclaimed again, absorbed in his own display.

"Hey, love-boy, we turn down here," Lance called, pointing to a street Alex had just passed-by. The eccentric boy returned to his friend's side, peering down the dark street with noticeable unease. It wasn't an alleyway or a normal place to be jumped, but it never hurt to be careful in Phoenix, after all. A single lamppost flickered on and off, illuminating a portion of the street and revealing the nature of the surrounding buildings, the backs of shops which faced the two busy streets on either side of the two students.

"Hey, hey…are you sure about this..?" Alex asked skeptically. "I don't remember going this way before…"

Lance walked past him, stepping into the dark street and bumping his fist against his friend's head. "That's because you've never walked home with me when it was dark before," he stopped and pointed down the road. "There's a brightly-lit street on the other side with the pretzel place you really like, remember?"

"Ah…it's coming back to me…" Alex said, drooling slightly as he contemplated the warm, salty goodness of the store's soft pretzels. "I suppose it couldn't hurt to take a short cut for my bestest friend in the world, could it?" he decided, stepping lithely to his friend's side, the two promptly beginning down the street.

"It never has before…" Lance shrugged, and the two kept up a light banter as they neared the lamppost. Stopping beneath its steady glare, he pointed down the road to where they could clearly see the lights of cars and street lights glowing ahead of them. "See? Nothing to worry about."

As Lance stepped out of the light, the night seemed to become colder, the stars dimmed, and a strong wind suddenly picked up. Alex grabbed Lance's wrist and jerked him behind him with seemingly inhuman strength, his strange white bracelet that he always wore beginning to glow, spreading the light out through the dark.

"Who's there?" Alex's voice cut through the darkness, no longer the light, airy voice of a student, but one imbibed with power and importance. "Reveal yourself!"

"Alex…are you o-" Lance began, but cut off as Alex flashed him a scathing, superior look filled with malice and disgust. His features had sharpened, and there was no kidding-around in his face as he looked with scorn upon his best friend.

"Shut up," he said simply, turning away. "If I need to, I'll _remove_ you."

Lance felt a lump in his throat, and a knot tightened in his gut. _So…this is fear…_ He raised his eyes to where Alex was looking, but could not see anything beyond his friend's back. Suddenly, in the middle of the street, a figure appeared seemingly out of nothing where previously there had been only dark road.

"I don't know who you are, but if you challenge me, you shall be destroyed," Alex's voice rang out confidently, taking a step forward. A bright light surrounded him, and as it cleared, a girl stood in his place, with similar features but…different, somehow. A long, curved sword appeared in her hands and she leveled it at the man in front of her menacingly. "Prepare to die, in the name of the Moderators!"

Lance nearly screamed with fear for the figure's life as Alex leapt at the man with her sword, a deadly arcing slash aimed to kill him well on its way to completion. With a clash of steel, though, the man parried the deadly attack with an intricate rapier, a pommel-strike to the chest propelling Alex backwards several feet. She spat, and white, glowing energy came out, dissipating into the air before it could reach the ground.

"You…You're the one they call Lucifer, aren't you?" Alex said thickly, clutching her chest. "The one who has been going around killing white kämpfers, aren't you?"

"Yes, scimitar-type Schwert kämpfer. I am here to purge you," the man said calmly. With a start, Lance saw he was looking at him, and quickly averted his eyes. There was something about this man that spoke raw power and untapped energy, the ease of his motions concealing the immense strength beneath. Glancing back to Alex, Lance began to see just how unmatched his friend was.

"Wait! Stop!" he called, struggling to his feet and jumping in front of Alex. "Wait, Alex! I don't know what's going on, but you can't beat him! Please just stop!"

Alex's eyes narrowed, and suddenly Lance felt a cold pain creeping from his hip to his shoulder and, before he could react, he was lying on the ground. Something warm was cocooning him in its safe embrace; coughing, he realized it was blood. Searching for Alex's eyes, he found the fury in them, the utter hatred of dealing with such a trivial matter for so long prevalent, and they turned away from him, leaving him to his fate.

How unfair…

_I'm…weak…_

Panicking, Lance sought the gaze of the other, and he gazed into the man's eyes, something there seeming to reassure him, if only a little. The darkness in them, though wild and powerful, seemed gentle, almost, and through the pain, Lance saw acknowledgement in his gaze.

"How unfortunate I had to sully my hands with such trash…" Alex said, wiping her blade clean. "I had had enough of that for several millennia."

"Ah…and you would know all about a millennia, wouldn't you?" the man asked calmly.

"You – how dare you speak to me as though you know me!" Alex proclaimed vehemently, stepping towards the man. "How dare you challenge the embodiment of the Moderators' will on Earth! Scum such as you are outclassed compared to a white kämpfer such as myself."

"You dare presume to challenge me, kämpfer?" the man said quietly, his simple question seeming to quieten the entire city, as though the entire population of the state was awaiting his righteous judgment. His voice was no longer quiet, though in volume it was – it was rather something felt in one's entire body, fearing it, feeling the malice. He took a step forwards, and Alex took a step backwards. "I am known as the Nightwalker, the Lord of Gloom, the Ravager, or the Raven of the Hunt. I embody destruction…power…darkness," he took another step forward, his body shifting in and out of focus as darkness surrounded him, his eyes glowing malevolently from beneath his long, unkempt hair. Alex took two steps backwards, but the Nightwalker suddenly sprinted, his speed beyond superhuman, and seemed to appear before Alex, who promptly dropped her weapon out of fear, all of her pugnacious nature and defiance having drained away in terror of this entity.

"M-moderator!" she cried softly, her terror absolute.

The end was quick, too quick for Lance to see with his quickly-deteriorating vision, but the very air seemed to be split in two with the ferocity of the strike, and a tremendous scream of fear and pain went up from Alex before quickly being silenced.

Regret danced across Lance's mind as he observed the victor's power. If only…if only he had been able to be as strong as him…perhaps he too might have had the potential to change the world…perhaps he might have been able to save Alex, whoever he…no, she, was.

_I'm…weak…_

When he opened his eyes again, the man was standing over him, his features impassive as he regarded the dying boy.

"You are near death…You must choose your destiny yourself," he said softly, his voice musing. "What will you do?"

_I'm weak…but closure is weaker still…I cannot allow my further deterioration._

"I choose…" Lance said, the world swirling around him as he spoke, his voice unsteady as he felt his life slipping away.

The wound was mortal.

He would definitely die.

_If I'm going to die, I'll die with a purpose._

"…destiny."

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**So, how was it? Please review with any comments or advice.  
**

**Chapter 2 should be out soon.**


	3. Chapter 2

**Hey guys, **Noble Scotsman** here with chapter 2 of Kampfer. Enjoy!**

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**Chapter 2**

There was a strong wind blowing.

It danced through the large, open room, disturbing the light curtains as it passed by, gently ruffling the fine hairs of a sleeping girl. She lay asleep in a large bed, her chest rising and falling gently as she breathed, mimicking the delights of the wind as it blew throughout the room.

The pale sun shone gently through the open French doors, its dulled light permeating all corners of the room and adding a soft glow to the immaculate sanctuary. It crept across the cool tile floor, reflecting fantastic distortions of a different reality onto the ceiling, dancing carelessly across the pure white surface. Everything in that place was white, from the bedspread to the fabric chairs clustered around a vase of lilies, their sweet scent wafting throughout the room on the intrusive wind as it continued its ceaseless dance with the light.

There was a fountain somewhere, its soft, soothing sound melodic in the tranquil room. It filled the air with background noise, causing the very architecture to relax its aching joints and stop to listen, transfixed by its melody.

On the bed, the girl moved, quietly awaking from her slumber. She sat up, looking around cautiously, drinking in the pleasant atmosphere as she surveyed her surroundings. Slipping out of the warm, comforting embrace of the covers, she stepped onto the tiles, allowing her feet to soak in the pleasant coolness of the ground. The wind suddenly picked up, and her white hair was caught up in it, the short strands billowing backwards like long, luscious grass disturbed by a sea breeze. It was pleasant…very pleasant, as though angels were running their fingers through her hair, and she sighed in happiness, closing her eyes to experience this new sensation. As the wind died down, the girl opened her eyes, catching sight of a mirror, and walked towards it silently, touching her unrecognizable features with confusion as she stood in silent bewilderment.

Before her stood a pale girl, her short white arranged in a hairstyle that was eerily familiar. She wore only a thin grey nightgown which seemed to cling to her frame, fitting perfectly, and she fingered the unfamiliar cloth with mild interest before returning to the reflection. The girl was fit, with modest curves in all the right places – though not to be unattractive or bulky; rather, it was a quiet, feline kind of power which was emanated, reassuring the beholder of the lithe speed and graceful bearing that would be seen in all of her movements. Then, the girl's gaze moved to her eyes, observing with silent recognition her features. Each eye was a deep, crimson red, the color of fresh blood, and pleasantly shaped, her long, dark lashes contrasting beautifully with her pale skin – white to the point of snow.

A gust of wind blew through the room again, and the girl turned, seemingly as though drawn by some great, inexplicable presence, and stepped hesitantly towards the French doors, moving towards the outside world. As she drew closer to the entrance, she could make out a dark shape on the other side of the light curtains, and the sound of the playing fountain grew louder in her ears. She bumped against a table, and her gaze spun as the noise of clattering filled her ears. On the table was a chess board, halfway through a game, with no pieces taken on either side. Reaching out, she retrieved the black queen she had knocked over and placed it by the king's side, tucking her hair behind her ear as she turned towards the doors once more. Stepping forward tentatively, as though unsure of the consequences of her actions, she threw back the curtains, stepping suddenly into the light.

The sun was blinding to her new eyes, but as they adjusted, she froze in awe. Before her stretched an open sky, reaching farther than the eye could see in all directions, seeming to diminish the size of the desert which lay beneath it. She was standing on the porch of some great building, overlooking the Arizonian desert and city of Phoenix from atop a hilly rise, alone but for the company of a few other houses which chose to lay their foundations precariously there. The sky was more blue than she had ever imagined, seeming to stretch endlessly up and out, a calling to those longing for adventure, beckoning them to it with the promise of endless air.

It was a world all of its own.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" a voice asked, its mellow, soothing tones washing over her like water, raising goosebumps on the back of her neck. Slowly, the girl turned, the sight of two chairs greeting her eyes – one occupied, one not – and she raised her eyes to meet those of the man sitting next to her. He was not looking at her, though, merely surveying the sky, and she waited in silence for him to speak again.

"Why don't you take a seat?" the man said, turning to face the girl and gesturing to the unoccupied seat. Tentatively, the girl accepted his offer, sitting down edgily on the chair, observing her host. He was not an old man, in fact, he was rather young – perhaps only in his early twenties or so – but he looked remarkably jaded for his age. He was lean and looked deceptively fragile, the pallor of his skin a neutral pale, and his hair was black as the night, mirroring the shade of the fitted black sweater he wore, quietly emanating elegance. His face was angled sharply, but this seemed to only enhance his figure, setting off the cut of his hair, a long sweep down the side of one cheek. Above all of this, though, there was something different about him, something that flickered in his grey eyes, something that whispered of untold power to those who listened.

They would do well to listen.

"Who…are you..?" the girl asked, and the man broke into a small, measured smile.

"My name is Carlisle," he said, meeting the girl's gaze with a hint of amusement in his eyes. "We met the other day on your way home, Lance Schaeffer."

The girl's eyes flew open, all of her memories returning, flowing into her at once. Volleyball…Alex…the sword…_the sword..._ What had happened that night? Groaning, she clutched her head, and Carlisle turned back to the panorama. After a few minutes, Lance was able to compose herself, and looked at her host with new eyes, desperate for an answer. Many formed on her lips, but each as unaskable and ridiculous as the last, and in the end, silence was all she could manage.

"In this world…" Carlisle said suddenly, as though aware of the struggle within Lance, "there is a certain…system of representation, you could say. Far away from here, there are two worlds which have been warring with one another for thousands of years. To prevent their destruction, a group of individuals known as 'Moderators' declared a ceasefire between the two, the war to continue on Earth instead with a type of gladiatorial games," he said impassively, watching a pair of clouds travel across the sky, carried by the wind. "This is known as the Kämpfer System."

Lance didn't respond, considering Carlisle's words. "Was…Alex, or what used to be Alex, a kämpfer as well, then?" he asked finally, attempting to understand.

Carlisle inclined his head, smirking. "Very good. The thing you knew as Alex was a certain type of kämpfer known as a white kämpfer. Unlike other kämpfers, they are not human – merely the physical embodiment of the Moderators' will."

"So that makes them…the enforcers."

"Very good."

"If that's true…" Lance frowned, "then why did you…kill…Alex?"

Carlisle's smirk widened, and he turned his full attention to the confused questioner. "Do you really believe that the Moderators are just?"

Lance blinked. "I don't know, but if they make the rules of this system then-"

"Being a ruler doesn't make you just," Carlisle said, shaking his head. "Especially when your rule will be the undoing of a planet."

"What do you mean?" Lance asked, intrigued.

"Moderators," Carlisle began, frowning slightly as his smile faded, "are inherently selfish beings. In this system, they elect humans who know nothing of their war to fight their battles for them – even kill each other in their name. They have forced an innocent species, when selected, to take neither a side which they have any knowledge about nor any desire to fight for – except, perhaps, to survive another day."

"Moderators…" Lance murmured, deep in thought, her brow furrowed. Carlisle remained silent, watching her out of the corner of his eye. "Speaking of kämpfers, am I a kämpfer as well, then?" Lance asked suddenly, gesturing to herself. Carlisle sighed in exasperation and nodded.

"Yes. You are a kämpfer."

"Are you?" Lance tentatively asked. The two figures stared at each other, the time trickling past, until finally Carlisle answered.

"No. I'm not a kämpfer."

"Are you a Moderator?" Lance persisted, intent on understanding. Carlisle didn't respond again, staring across the desert as he pondered the question.

"Enough. This is about you," Carlisle responded firmly, his voice soft but final. "How are you dealing with the change?" he asked, gesturing to Lance's body. Lance took a moment to understand what was being said, then blushed profusely.

"It's really strange…It doesn't feel bad…" she said quietly. "I feel comfortable in this form, for some reason."

Carlisle nodded. "Good. Though kämpfers gain powers when they become one, fundamental changes happen to every kämpfer upon receiving the power. For men, they are forced to change into women, the slight of body are forced into a more combat-oriented one, and the weak of mind have their very personality altered.

"On top of that," he continued, gesturing to Lance's wrist, where a black bracelet hung, "kämpfers are forced to join a side, as I said, and fight the other side to the death. There are two teams, excluding the white kämpfers – red and blue – and all have identifying bracelets like yours which allow them to transform into their kämpfer form in order to do battle with the others."

"My bracelet is black, though…" Lance said, fingering the bracelet. "Why is that?"

Carlisle laced his fingers together, his small smile filled with certain unidentifiable emotions as he answered. "You are my kämpfer," he said, looking Lance in the eye, "the black kämpfer. You exist to carry out my will and to bring about the fall of this system." Lance blinked in surprise, but Carlisle held up his hand, finishing his thought. "I siphoned off a portion of my own being to allow you to become a kämpfer, and my own essence resides within you, now. You are faster, stronger, and more deadly than any other kämpfer, and with this power you shall stand by my side."

Carlisle stood up and plucked his jacket from the back of his chair, slipping it on in a smooth, practiced movement. It was a heavy black jacket which hung low, its weather-beaten surface seeming too heavy for Carlisle's slight frame as he shrugged it on. Reaching inside one of the inside pockets, he drew out a wad of papers and handed them to Lance, who accepted them curiously. On the top was a stack of passports, and Lance leafed through them. There were two of each, and he opened one to the profile page, blinking in surprise at what he saw.

The male face of Lance Schaeffer stared back at her from the passport, the features comfortingly familiar, but it was not his passport. The name Lance Nocte was inked next to the picture, and Lance read it to herself quietly, the name seeming to fit. Turning to the next passport, she opened it also to the profile page and stared at its contents. Her own face, her current face, stared back at her from the page, her red eyes challenging the camera fiercely as she smirked at the beholder. The name next to it was strange, though, one she had never heard before, but it rang with meaning as she read it to herself.

Anastasia Nocte.

Anastasia laughed suddenly, and Carlisle smiled at her mirth. Everything was so strange, unbelievable, but it was the beginning of the adventure Lance had always longed for. It was the beginning of something exciting, a new start, and anything could happen. She turned to Carlisle, reading the kindness in his eyes, and smiled.

_I may not know everything yet, but this is a new chance, a new adventure…one that will flourish for many years to come._

"This is the beginning, isn't it?" she asked, smiling. He nodded, and rested a hand softly on her head, his touch soothing her excitement, calming her nerves.

"Go get dressed," he finally said, pushing her towards the door. "We're leaving soon."

"Yes, Carlisle; absolutely!" Anastasia replied happily, returning to the room. There were clothes on the bed which had not been there before, but she simply smiled, marveling at the wonders she would experience in this new life.

Outside, the sun began to weaken, reflecting in the grey eyes of the tall man who stood watching it, his mind dancing as he watched the city below. He turned his head west, towards where the wide open expanse of the Pacific ocean lay hundreds of miles away, contentment rising within him as he thought about the completion of his task. Once more, he would be able to return to the sea, the beauty and elegance of the far-eastern countries, and this time, he would not have to be alone.

"For many years to come…" he murmured, his hair blowing in the wind as the sky turned a pale gold.

There was a strong wind blowing.

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**How was it? I hope you enjoyed, and please review!**

**Chapter 3 should be out soon.**


	4. Chapter 3

**Hey** **guys**...**a very tired** Noble Scotsman** here with a new chapter of** Kampfer!

**This chapter was incredibly difficult to write, and I think I delved into far too-much detail and backstory, but still! I'm happy with it, and it will provide a good segway into the main arc of this story, so that's good.**

**Anyways, I hope you enjoy, aren't too exasperated with me (I think I used that word _way _too much in this chapter, haha), but without further ado, I present you with the third chapter of **Kampfer**! Enjoy~**

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**Chapter 3**

The wind had faded by the time the sun dropped beneath the horizon, plunging everything into the eerie neon semi-darkness of a big city. Streetlights stood fixedly, their pacing consistent and even, shining light intermittently through the silver car's darkened windows as it wove through the urban labyrinth. From within, a slight figure gazed at the sky, its forehead resting against the cool window, considering the world outside.

It was a new moon tonight.

The figure moved as it was struck by a sudden thought, the stillness that had enveloped the scene within the car suddenly disturbed, the magic broken. Looking over, the figure's eyes met those of her companion's, the violet seeming to emanate from his eyes as he met her gaze, seeking to derive the source of the conflict swelling within her. He reclined elegantly in his seat, effortlessly piloting the sleek German car through the city streets, his gaze straying from the road carelessly, though the car's path never wavered outside of the road's boundaries. The girl had already given up trying to imitate his graceful, relaxed posture and settled into a cross-legged observation of the city outside. A black bracelet dangled on her wrist, reminding her continuously of transformation that had come over her overnight, and her brow furrowed again at the thought.

Had she made the right decision? Everything seemed to be moving too fast…the longer she thought about it, the more likely it seemed that she had made a careless decision. Besides…she knew nothing about this man, nor whether or not he was telling the truth. Was everything a lie…what was real? Who _was_ she…was she not a man? But still…why, then, was he in such a feminine body?

Why had she trusted this man, acted as though she was happy, even relieved? For all she knew he could be taking her somewhere to kill her…or worse.

Had she been wrong, then?

"Hey, kämpfer…" the tall, elegant man said abruptly, his gaze flitting across his companion's face before returning to the road in front of them, "You've turned back into a boy."

The girl glanced down quickly, surprised, and found no trace of the body she had possessed earlier. She was taller, more muscular, and had the sharp definition of a male athlete…her original body. Curious and exasperated at even greater change, he glanced at his companion in despair.

"Is…that normal?"

Carlisle's expressionless face transformed into a smile, and he laughed, the sound reverberating throughout the car pleasantly. "I _did _say you were a kämpfer…did I not?"

"Ah..." the boy said, remembering their conversation from earlier…or maybe yesterday…time seemed to flow around Carlisle, leaving him untouched and unblemished in the current of time. Still, though, his transformation back into a boy had reassured him somewhat of Carlisle's sincerity – and that his past life had not been a dream after all. "I nearly forgot about being able to change bodies…"

"Are you disappointed, Lance?"

The boy met his gaze evenly, his thoughts clearer than they had been when he was a girl for some reason – he was more rational in this form, not so quick to trust Carlisle and carry out his whims. He briefly entertained the thought that the mentality would be connected to the will to fight before dismissing it, preferring to gather evidence rather than assumptions. "Not particularly, it's more of a relief, honestly. But…now that I'm thinking clearer…"

"…you have some questions," Carlisle finished for him, nodding. "It would be curious for you not to, after all."

"Why do you say that?" Lance asked quizzically. Carlisle smiled at him again, this time somewhat challengingly, seeming to radiate amusement with the proceedings. '_How quaint…' _came to Lance's mind and he sighed, disliking the man sitting next to him.

"You have a different personality as a female kämpfer than you do when you're in this form…" Carlisle responded, his eyes twinkling. "…which I'm sure you've already figured out."

Lance sighed, the confirmation of what he had already assumed somewhat depressing. "What a bother…" he muttered, and Carlisle threw back his head again, laughing uproariously.

"You sound like an old man…" he said when the laughter had subsided significantly. "After all, isn't the difference between your two forms what provides the most excitement for you?"

"Not in the least…" Lance said, shaking his head. "In fact, I rather despise my female form. She's too open, emotional, trusting, impulsive, and-"

"Loyal?" Carlisle remarked quietly, his eyes once again on the road, his features serene. Lance didn't answer, and for a long time, silence reigned between them.

"So…which am I, then?" Lance asked after a while, his voice subdued with the stress of the unknown, "Am I Lance, or am I Anastasia?"

Carlisle considered the question for a long moment before responding, his voice even, emotionless, responding with equal sincerity as that expressed in the question asked. "You are you, and nothing will change that, but Anastasia is as much a part of you as your original self is now. If you desire, you may choose to never revert to your female version, though…" he trailed off, smirking as Lance's outline darkened and flickered for a moment, managing to retain his male form as it faded, "…it may require some practice."

Lance nodded, unaware of the change that had nearly come over him. "What will happen to me now…do we need to come with you, or can I return to my old life?"

Carlisle didn't meet his eyes, though Lance made no attempt to either, staring out of his window thoughtfully as he worked to deal with his situation rationally. There was silent recognition of a truth already known as his question was answered.

"I think you know the answer to that."

"I know…" Lance responded, closing his eyes and tilting his head back, leaving his past behind as they sped through the night. It would serve him no longer to have any future but this, to be with and serve this strange, dark man.

It was the only future he had.

His eyes closed, Lance thought about what had happened to him so far. He had died…then he hadn't – Carlisle had saved him. He had then been provided with food and clothing, a safe place to sleep, and above all, been comforted with the promise of a fresh start. Carlisle had been kind, even - never providing a reason for distrust or discomfort – even sitting outside while he slept, the alternative uncomfortable to think about. He had not been made to swear any promises, sign any contract, nor did Carlisle exercise his godly powers in any way against him – barring the necessary conversion to a kämpfer.

On top of that, without Carlisle's favorable intercession, Lance would not be alive, and while he assumed Carlisle had no doubt constructed a fabulous and elaborate cover for his sudden disappearance – why else would he have woken up in Carlisle's house? – he knew that his departure from his family would be infinitely better than his abrupt and unexplained death.

Everything Carlisle had done correlated with his own trail of reasoning…did that make Carlisle right? Either way, though, he had shown Lance incredible reason and kindness, even if what he said was hard to believe.

If he was to be a kämpfer, he would want to be this man's kämpfer.

After another long pause, Lance finally spoke, changing the subject, his course decided. "So, where are we going?"

"I thought we would…take a walk…" Carlisle responded, barely suppressing a smile as he pulled the car over to a brightly-lit sidewalk, stepping out lithely into the busy street and smoothly onto the sidewalk, the neon lights of downtown Phoenix pulsating behind him as he turned to look expectantly into the greyed car. Opening his door and looking around cautiously, Lance joined him.

"Hey…isn't it dangerous to be out like this?" he asked Carlisle tentatively, who winked and walked to the rear of the car, opening the boot fluidly.

"Ah, of course, the kämpfer wishes to be armed."

As Lance walked over to join him, rolling his eyes, a plain black interior typical of a boot could be seen with two swords and their sheaths resting comfortably side by side, seemingly alone in their occupation of the spacious compartment. Lance's eyebrow twitched in exasperation with the openness with which Carlisle carried weapons, though he soon recovered, reasoning that it was normal when in a line of work such as his. Having overcome this next hurdle in serving his savior, Lance was able to fully appreciate the beauty of the weapons he was looking at. One was long and slim, encased in a rich black sheath embossed with scarlet thread, and whose hilt was ornately decorated, the bright, silver metal twisting into beautiful and intricate designs that left the eye lost in the forest of cool metal. The other sword was longer than the other sword, taking up nearly all of the room provided with its considerable length. Its blade was broader, slightly leaf-shaped, and whose hilt had a simple, beautiful cross guard protecting the more ornate, delicate grip and decorated pommel behind. It was encased in a black sheath similar to the other, and as Lance looked at it, the impossibility of wielding such a great, long sword seemed beyond human capabilities, if only for the weight alone – not even considering the strength it would take to use it in the swift, dancing routine of a hand-and-a-half swordsman.

"This is your blade now," Carlisle said, holding the lighter, narrower sword out to Lance, who took it gingerly in his hands. "It has served me well…as it will serve you."

"Isn't this…Couldn't we get arrested for this?" Lance said, nonetheless belting the elegant sword to his waist – he had an obligation to Carlisle as his kämpfer, after all. Everything would be different now.

"People who do not wish to see something often do not," Carlisle replied, lifting the second sword one-handed and closing the boot smoothly, turning with Lance to stride casually into the mass of people in front of them, the picture of ease…if you could ignore the enormous weapon of destruction he held loosely in one hand. "When it concerns affairs involving us, that truth is even more so. Our attire is also important in their view of us, and something you should keep in mind as my kämpfer."

"Yes, Carlisle," Lance responded, his voice empty of the adoration of Anastasia but filled with the same respect and loyalty that the secretive, powerful man's presence demanded. Looking down, he thought about what Carlisle had said, fingering the clothes he had been lent before leaving the house. He wore a black turtleneck that hung loosely over his purple jeans, complimenting his style perfectly and setting off her best features with a natural, effortless beauty. Aside from the normal clothes, he also wore light shoes and fingerless gloves, both of which were surprisingly well-ventilated and comfortable for the durable material they were made of. Looking over, Lance saw Carlisle was wearing similar things, plus his long black jacket. Even though it was late spring, they were cool, their clothes seeming to absorb the heat assaulting the other pedestrians who walked around them, reflecting it back rebelliously into the hot desert night. Despite himself, Lance found himself appreciating the effortless grace with which Carlisle conducted himself and the soft elegance with which he dressed.

He had surprisingly good taste, for an ancient.

"If you're that attracted to me, you should simply turn into your girl form, Lance…" Carlisle teased gently, his violet eyes dancing alluringly from beneath the cascade of jet-black hair. His gaze flickered for a second and he touched a hand to the bangs which hung low over his face, as if contemplating their existence. "I wonder if I should dye my hair…" he said after a while, continuing to examine his hair as they turned down a surprisingly empty street. "Blonde might work."

"Shut up…" Lance muttered good-heartedly, suppressing a smile. Carlisle was also surprisingly vain, unexpectedly so, and Lance could feel himself opening up to what would be his constant companion for…who knows. "For many years to come," he said softly, allowing a smile to form at the thought of adventuring with this interesting, vain man.

Suddenly, Carlisle stopped, the cessation of his soft footsteps seeming to echo throughout the street as clearly as the crack of a whip. Lance turned immediately, his left hand straying to the pommel of his sword as his grey eyes met the violet of Carlisle's. The street was quiet, quieter than a downtown road like this had a right to be in a busy city such as Phoenix…especially before midnight. Everything was still, and even the buildings, towering above on all sides, seemed to be holding their breath. Lance's eyes sought the passing of a car, the shout of a pedestrian to a friend, even seeking the low vibration of movement.

Nothing.

Something was wrong.

Suddenly, his eyes flew open, and he crumpled to the ground, clutching his head, mouth agape in a silent scream. Carlisle was instantly by his side, his hands soothing, his touch like cool water to the burning agony of his flesh as he endured the trauma.

Lance's head burned, and within seconds it had spread to her whole body, seeming to burn a bloody path throughout her nervous system, setting every cell on fire as the inferno raged within. He attempted to breath, but as he exhaled, his lungs also burst into flame, seeming to seize-up, and fear crept into his mind for the first time. Emotions suddenly rushed into his body and mind, and his eyes opened, narrowing as he bared his teeth, continuing the silent scream. He felt wrath, envy, greed, and pride, and the neutrality of simply serving Carlisle out of a debt – lack of choice – died and was forgotten as the fire consumed it. His hand clutched at his heart, but felt something else instead of his muscled chest – something soft.

Then, as abruptly as it had started, it ended, and Carlisle slowly withdrew his hand, aware of his survival. From his position curled-up on the ground, Lance looked at his body, groaning mentally as he saw what had happened to him.

He was a girl once again, once again Anastasia.

Carlisle stood up from where he knelt beside her, stepping over her still-limp form wordlessly towards the center of the road. Looking up from where she lay, Anastasia saw a figure standing in front of them, her arms wreathed in flames, and for a split-second she wondered why the white bracelet dangling from her wrist had not burned up yet. As it registered in her recovering mind, she went to jump to her feet, only managing to sit up, though, wincing as though physically injured.

White kämpfer.

As Anastasia looked at the other kämpfer, she felt a strange emotion welling-up inside of her, increasing exponentially until she felt she could take no more. She wanted to fight. She wanted to prove herself. She wanted to be worthy to be Carlisle's kämpfer.

She wanted to kill, and the sword at her side seemed to pulsate, mirroring her desires as it felt the presence of a white kämpfer.

"You!" she cried, pointing at Carlisle judiciously, her voice trembling with fury, "You will pay for what you've done in this city! You'll pay for killing them!"

"Hmm…" Carlisle said casually, intentionally angering the other kämpfer, "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"You _killed _them!" the girl shrieked, shooting fire into the night angrily, the flames dying before they could rise above the tops of the buildings, their light reflecting dangerously in the darkened business windows on every side. "You killed my friends, and now I'll kill you!"

"You'll have to be a _little _more specific than that," Carlisle replied loosely, amusement creeping into his voice as Anastasia held back a giggle. "I kill _many_ people's friends, after all."

"Die!" the girl screamed, charging at Carlisle and Anastasia, her limbs trailing fire as she sought to destroy them. Carlisle effortlessly avoided to one side, but Anastasia's eyes flashed and she stood up, throwing her whole momentum from rising behind a punch as she connected with the crazed white kämpfer, sending her flying through the air to land on a car twenty feet away.

"Ah~…that felt good…" Anastasia said passionately as her remaining weakness flooded away, her eyes glowing a brilliant, crimson red as she bared her teeth in a smile at her attacker. Her eyes no longer were simply red, they literally glowed with power, blazing brilliantly as she looked towards her enemy, her personality changing as much as her eyes. Her body seemed to glow with a black aura, and she reached to her side for the rapier, drawing it out in one, smooth motion as she stalked towards her prey.

"Wh…Who the hell _is _she…?" the white kämpfer coughed, sitting up from the dented car, "she's a demon…Satan!"

"That girl," a voice from beside her responded, "is _my _kämpfer. I won't tolerate anyone bullying her." Looking beside her, the white kämpfer saw the tall, beautiful man leaning casually against the hood of the car, holding a large, dangerous-looking hand-and-a-half greatsword casually in one hand. His cool violet eyes bored into her soul, and she shriveled at the disdain she saw in them. "_Especially_ from scum like you."

"Bullying?" the white kämpfer said weakly, breaking into an exasperated laugh. "Are you kidding m-" she never got to finish her sentence, though, as Carlisle swung his sword - still sheathed - suddenly, sending her flying into the air to come crashing down into the middle of the street. As the white kämpfer struggled to her feet once more, she saw in a darkened reflection the two demons closing in on either side of her, beginning to circle in the same direction. Desperately, she procured two fireballs, holding them in either hand as she leveled them towards her attackers.

"Right then," Carlisle said, holding his sheathed sword loosely in one hand as he circled, resting it on one shoulder. "Lesson number one," he held up one finger on his opposite hand. "As you can clearly see, kämpfers are not immortal, nor are they indestructible."

"Yes, Carlisle," Anastasia nodded, her naked blade dancing in the fires that glowed in her enemy's hands. The white kämpfer lobbed two fireballs at Carlisle, but he simply stepped out of the way of one and pierced the other with his sheathed sword, the fire dissipating like harmless smoke around him as he lowered the tip to the ground, leaning on it like a walking stick.

"Lesson two," Carlisle continued, holding up two fingers, angling them insultingly at the white kämpfer. "A kämpfer is not restricted to using weapons only of its type, or using weapons at all, in fact. A kämpfer's whole body is a weapon and, by extension, anything that they touch is also considered a valid weapon."

"Yes, Carlisle," Anastasia said, suddenly dashing forwards to engage the distraught white kämpfer. As they met, the white kämpfer shooting flames out of her hands, Anastasia ducked down, sweeping her opponent's legs out from beneath her and following up with her knee, knocking the breath out of the other kämpfer. Standing up immediately after crippling her opponent, she finished with a palm-strike that sent the white kämpfer flying into a nearby building, shattering the glass as she went flying into the darkened room beyond. After a few moments she emerged, limping and with glass still-impaled, silvery energy pouring like blood from her wounds as she attempted to flee. Suddenly, she dived sideways with her remaining strength, some animalistic reaction kicking-in, just barely avoiding the lunge Anastasia had conducted with the rapier, receiving a deep gash along one arm. She fell to the ground, screaming in pain as the rapier Anastasia held glowed a silvery light, seeming to absorb the energy bleeding out of her defeated opponent.

"This is a special white kämpfer-killing blade…" Carlisle informed the two kämpfers quietly, walking to where Anastasia looked eagerly at him with her burning, beautiful scarlet eyes, her opponent held motionless on the ground at sword point. "As for your mistakes…your unfortunate affiliation with the Moderators has labeled you for…eradication...my deepest sympathies," he continued, beginning to draw his blade, the blade flashing as it caught the city lights.

Suddenly, he paused, turning to look behind him as a solitary motorcycle drove past, followed by a sea of other cars and pedestrians, the music of a living city returning to the battle scene and reminding the participants of reality. As he turned back to the white kämpfer, he saw that she had vanished, Anastasia having followed his gaze to the resurrection of the city. Sighing, he re-sheathed the small amount of blade he had already drawn, and Anastasia followed suit, brushing dirt off of her jeans as she looked around eagerly, nerves still running high from the fight.

"Did I do well, Carlisle?" Anastasia asked him earnestly as they began walking again, following some invisible trail left by the kämpfer which only Carlisle could follow.

"Yes, you did," he replied, not surprised with the change that had come over Anastasia, "for your first time, that was excellent. You channeled your killing intent well, though you require a lot of refinement. There will be plenty of time for that later, though."

"Whatever you say, Carlisle," she responded. Again, the tall, lean man smirked at the polar differences between the male and female mentalities of the black kämpfer. He would look forward to the internal struggle his charge would have within himself after this event was over.

"Carlisle…" Anastasia warned quietly, stirring him from his thoughts. They had been walking for a while now, and he raised his gaze to meet that of a girl crouching behind a corner in front of them, a gun leveled at the couple. They appeared to be in an alley of some sorts, and he sighed, the feeling of back-alley criminality returning to him once more. Anastasia's hand crept towards the hilt of her rapier and she kept her eyes leveled at the threat in front of them, appraising the skill of her next opponent. "Should I kill her for you?" she asked, her voice even quieter than before. Carlisle shook his head, appraising the girl in front of them, noticing especially the green bracelet on her wrist, and smirked.

"She's not a threat," he said, allowing his voice to carry over to the green kämpfer, addressing his next question to her. "Why are you here?"

"I should ask you the same-"she replied before suddenly throwing herself fully behind the corner as she saw something behind them, calling a warning as she ducked to safety. "Hit the deck!"

Carlisle felt heat on his back and he turned faster than the eye could follow, deflecting the fireball aimed at them at the last possible second. It exploded, throwing fire everywhere and engulfing the alley with smoke and heat, and when it cleared, Carlisle saw that Anastasia had already drawn her rapier - only a fraction of a second behind he himself would have done, though he had no reason to draw his weapon. Anastasia stepped forward to finish her fight from before but Carlisle positioned the sword in front of her, holding her back. Instead, he created a fireball of his own, his a dark violet-borderline black color, and sent it streaking towards the enemy they had just been fighting. Then, turning, he and Anastasia walked to join the mysterious girl who had called out the warning, deflecting fireballs as they went, Carlisle even going far enough to lob some he caught on his sheath back at the attacker.

When the two rounded the corner, they saw the green kämpfer crouching down, having just countered an attack by another white kämpfer. Anastasia noticed she held a gun, and her own hands twitched unconsciously for some reason, as though her own would materialize for the battle in place of the sword. Not for the first time, she wondered what type of kämpfer she was, but was knocked out of her reverie by the commanding tone the new kämpfer addressed Carlisle with.

"I'll draw mine out; her movement will cause the other White to come out. We'll kill them both," she said quickly, and Carlisle nodded, responding jadedly as Anastasia narrowed her eyes in dislike for the girl in front of her.

"Fine…"

The green kämpfer turned away and began firing, and Carlisle faced the opposite direction as a series of fireballs barraged their small group. He turned, winking at Anastasia, and deflected the first fireball as he began to run, deflecting the second fireball slightly – enough to not hit his temporary ally or Anastasia – and jumped on the wall, running fast enough to stay on the side of the buildings. The fireballs began to come faster now, the white kämpfer desperate, and he slipped to the ground as a horizontal wall of fire approached him, slipping under it effortlessly, the fire dissipating long before it reached the others behind him. Finally drawing his sword, he lunged, impaling the white kämpfer on his sword, her feet off the ground with the ferocity of his assault, a trail of dust settling behind him along the path he had sprinted. Stepping back, he grabbed the kämpfer's clothes and freed his sword, tossing the body against the wall, a dejected shell of a tool that had seen the end of its usefulness. In the blink of an eye, he had returned to Anastasia's side, and he addressed the green kämpfer, the second white kämpfer already having been disposed of.

"It's over," he stated, amused, his amusement increasing as he saw the green kämpfer frown.

"No shit," she said, disbelief in her voice.

"Hey," Carlisle replied, ignoring her tone as Anastasia bristled. She hadn't yet sated her lust for blood yet, and he knew continuing was dangerous to this girl's health. "You're heading for _that _place too…aren't you?"

"How do you mean?" she asked, confused. "If you mean I'm leaving this place to go elsewhere, I cannot leave for two weeks. I'm graduating this year, so I'd like to take finals and do that, plus I need to tell my college to give me a year. If you tell me where to go, I can meet you there. Part of being 19, man. Sorry."

"Give her a break, Carlisle," Anastasia said with what must have been enormous self-control, rolling her eyes - she would have lots to say about this later, apparently. She and Carlisle exchanged a smirk and he turned dismissively away, waving a hand over his shoulder carelessly as he left.

"Give her your phone number, Anastasia…" he said, his violet eyes meeting those of the green kämpfer's briefly, appraising her worth. Smirking again, he turned away. "I'll see you again in two weeks, _midori _kämpfer."

Anastasia handed the girl a note with her number on it – Lance's number – and ran after Carlisle. Falling into step beside him, her emotions settled into contentment, and she smiled.

"So, where to next?" she asked casually, suppressing the excitement of further adventures with Carlisle as they stopped, Carlisle turning to the west as he thought about her question, smiling as contently as her.

His task was finally completed.

Like Lance, he was free.

"To Japan."

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**Oh my goodness I'm so glad that's finally over. This chapter has caused me more worry and stress than any other story I've written...well, on Fanfiction, at any rate.  
It's probably horrible...aha...  
Regardless, I hope you enjoyed, though, so maybe it was worth it - maybe not, haha.**

**Rate and review, bitte schön!**

**Danke ****schön! Chapter 4 will be out soon!**

bitte schön


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